A Friend of the Family
by njbrennan
Summary: Canon/AU: Edith Crawley has been away at boarding school for most of her childhood and when she returns a few weeks prior to her first London Season, she is surprised to meet her father's best friend, Anthony Strallan. They struggle to come to terms with their feelings as Edith is introduced to young suitors. Can their love overcome the many obstacles it faces? Will it be too late?
1. Crossing Paths

A/N: Hello there! I've had this story in mind for a few weeks now, churning and stewing while I should have been focusing on studying (lol) and I've decided that it's finally time to get it one paper! And it's not Modern A/U…crazy for me, I know ;)

The plot will be set in the canon time period, but other than that (apart from character histories and such), that's the only bit of canon I plan to use. Basically, instead of Anthony and Robert being distant friends/neighbors, they'll be very good friends, best friends even, being both neighbors and classmates since they were young boys. As such, Anthony is never seen as a suitor for any of the Crawley girls, not even Mary.

Edith, on the other hand, will undergo that sort of rebellious independence streak that we saw in S4, but she'll do so out of order, prior to the Great War. She has not spent much of her childhood at Downton Abbey, as she was sent away to a boarding school down south and is currently contemplating whether to attend university in the States at one of the Seven Sisters.

As such, though their lives have been intermingling at the Abbey for years, Edith and Anthony have seen very little of each other, apart from a fleeting glimpse or a random story told about the other at dinner. I won't give away too much, as you'll just have to read to find out!

I hope you all enjoy this one!

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Over a hundred years ago, in the first class cabin on a train bound for Ripon, sat a nobleman's daughter, her lips pursed tightly and her heart heavy. It was early May, the air just fragrant enough and the earth just warm enough to remind oneself that winter had come and gone and that it wouldn't be back to bother the English for quite some time.

The young woman, should you be so curious to know, was of a youthful age, freshly nineteen, not quite a child, but not yet an adult by many standards. Her hair, strawberry blonde with a fashionable curl to it, was pinned in such a way so as to keep it from her face in the most practical manner; though on certain days, today included, one could see a pencil peaking out from the bun in the back, as this particular young woman spent much of her time writing and scribbling notes in the many books she read. Her clothes, too, were similar to what many ladies of her class wore: fine frocks to emphasize her figure to gentlemen she might meet along the way, but never more than demurely, of course.

Her name was Edith Crawley, the middle daughter of the Earl of Grantham, and for the first time in many months, she was on her way home. As a young child, she exhibited an innate intellect and interest in learning, far surpassing that of her elder and younger sisters and even exceeding the competency of her beloved governess. Miss Clara, the governess, pleaded with the earl and countess, explaining that someone like their middle daughter would fare much better at a place with the greatest instructors, with a standard of education that Miss Clara simply couldn't provide for Edith.

So, despite their reservations, Lord and Lady Grantham agreed to send their middle daughter to an all-girls boarding school where she might be challenged and where she could hone her intellect in ways she couldn't at their country estate, Downton Abbey. Within the month, the ten-year-old girl was sent away from Yorkshire on a train to the Cheltenham Ladies' College in Gloucestershire, one of the primer institutions of learning for daughters of the upper classes.

Young Edith had no objections to this, as she was rather looking forward to a fabulous adventure away from the Abbey. She had never quite fit in with her family anyway: she was introverted where they were ebullient, bookish where they were sociable, reserved where they were gregarious. The opportunity to spend her days away from her sisters and parents, to spend months upon months learning and soaking up knowledge, well, it seemed almost too good to be true.

But of course, it wasn't too good to be true. Her time at Cheltenham was everything Edith had hoped and dreamed it would be. The classes were riveting and she always earned top marks; her teachers and her peers were enamoured by her way with words, by her zeal for learning that made her magnetic to the intellectuals at the school; she even enjoyed the recreation time, devoting such moments to poetry and sketching and, when the mood struck her, to wandering off alone to a distant field or faraway stream to think and commune with God's beautiful earth.

Life was precious to Edith when she spent it at Cheltenham, so much so that she seldom left. Only during Christmas and Easter did she make her way back to Yorkshire for her unavoidable family obligations, and she often loathed every moment that she was away from her beloved Gloucestershire. She even found excuses to stay during the summer recess, varying from taking additional courses to working on projects for faculty members, anything to stay away from Downton. There was even talk among her professors about recommending her to attend one of the Seven Sisters, a collection of prestigious women's colleges in America, where advanced education for women was more progressive than in her home country at the time. Edith had written to her grandmother Martha, an American living in Rhode Island and New York, about what she should do, to which the elderly woman firmly replied that to abandon her education would be nothing short of a travesty. No, Edith would go on to do great things, her education being one of them; Martha Levinson would see to that.

Edith had her heart set on Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York, an excellent school not far from her grandmother's home in Newport. She had even procured the requisite application packet and had multiple faculty members clamoring to write her letters of recommendation.

All was lining up for Edith to attend university, a notion that thrilled her and made her swell with pride. That is, until she received a letter from her parents just a few weeks prior to her graduation from Cheltenham.

As per the customs of her class, Edith was to be presented to the King at her first London Season in a matter of weeks. The goal was that, within a year or so, the earl's middle daughter would find herself a suitable husband and produce an heir. It was women of the upper classes had been doing for generations and what was expected of Edith, as well. There was no escape, no conceivable alternative. Edith's education in science and math and literature would end soon, replaced only by an education of martial duties and motherhood. Vassar was out of the question, and it made Edith sick to her stomach.

And so that was how Lady Edith Crawley found herself aboard this wretched train bound for Ripon. She had finished her coursework with the highest marks, but had to forfeit the right to attend her graduation ceremony so that she could return to Downton to prepare for her upcoming Season. Gown fittings, remedial etiquette lessons, and gossip about the eligible bachelors who would be in attendance at some of the balls were going to be all that consumed Edith's life for the next few weeks until she made the journey to London with her family to be presented.

Edith missed her books and her studies already, her friends and professors at Cheltenham occupying a spot in her heart that she wasn't sure would ever be filled. Nothing but duty awaited her at home; obligation, boredom, and endless drivel…that was to be her life.

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Sir Anthony Strallan inhaled the cool, May morning air, his wispy blond hair flowing in the lavender breeze. The rolling hills of Downton's estate stretched in front of him, the lazy sun meandering its way across the Yorkshire sky, and the baronet's sapphire eyes scanned the river for signs of excessive movement.

His companion and best friend, Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham, was about fifty yards upstream, whipping his fishing line along his side until it plunked in the stream searching for its prey. This had been their usual springtime, weekend excursion for as long as Anthony could remember. He could think of no better way to spend a Saturday morning than fishing with his dear pal.

They were an odd pair, both so different from one another; but it seemed what one lacked, the other possessed. The earl, a little more than a year or so older than his friend, was headstrong, traditional, and quite capable of (and rather enjoyed) throwing lavish and frequent soirees. The baronet, on the other hand, was far more reserved than his trusted companion, keen to spend his days in the fields and his nights with a book. He had lost his wife and son only a few years prior, so he mostly kept to himself when he wasn't socializing with Robert and the earl's massive circle of companions, Anthony's heartache sometimes proving too much to bear when in the company of happy people.

As young boys, both Robert and Anthony had acquainted themselves first as neighbors, their fathers' estates being adjacent to one another, and soon after, the two heirs grew into friends. Their friendship continued at Eton College, where both boys gained notice on their house crew teams and in the classroom, among their peers and instructors. Robert and Anthony drifted some when they both married their respective wives and began reproducing and raising little ones. Though they saw little of each other during those years, their letters remained constant, their friendship never waning. It wasn't until Anthony's wife, Maud, and his newborn son, Henry, passed in childbirth that the men became reacquainted in a more permanent sense. Robert was there for his friend, comforting and consoling as any gentleman would, but especially as a true friend would. Little by little, the two noblemen renewed their bond, the earl inviting the baronet to more social engagements, and the latter only declining every so often.

Now, four years since Anthony lost his wife and child, the two men were as close as they ever were. They hunted and fished often, when weather permitted and even when it didn't; they exchanged ideas about their estates over brandy after dinner on a regular basis; and Anthony was often a guest of the Crawleys at Downton for parties and luncheons.

It was almost noon when the bounty of fish in the river grew wise to Robert and Anthony's game and moved onto safer waters. As the fishing lines went untouched, the two men decided to cut their losses and trek back to Downton for luncheon. So, they grabbed their rods, swung their baskets brimming with fresh catches over their shoulders, and began the long hike.

"Lady Edith is coming home this afternoon," Robert spoke aloud almost absentmindedly, more of a reminder to himself than an announcement.

"Is she?" Anthony replied genially. "That's wonderful! I'm sure you're glad to have all of your children home under one roof." The man racked his brain trying to remember what his friend's middle daughter was like; it had to have been at least eight or nine years since he had last seen her. While he was familiar with Ladies Mary and Sybil, Lady Edith had always seemed more of a mystery, an enigma of a young woman. She was seldom home, always away at Cheltenham studying, and on the rare occasion when she happened to be home, his path and hers never seemed to cross.

Robert said nothing for a moment, lost in a thought. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Cora is beside herself with Edith's arrival. She's rather preoccupied and consumed with preparing for Edith's first Season. New frocks, guest lists, the works."

"It's Lady Edith's first Season?" Anthony asked with surprised. Was she really old enough to be presented to society already? Surely she was still a little girl with those same messy copper curls and button nose, wasn't she?

"I know, I can hardly believe it either," Robert chuckled, somewhat out of breath as he tried to keep up with Anthony's excessively long strides. "But she's already nineteen, if you can believe it. Soon, with any luck, she'll be married off to a good young man. That's what Cora and I are hoping for, at least."

Downton appeared in the distance and both men could feel their stomachs groan with hunger.

"Wasn't she rather committed to her education at Cheltenham?" the baronet asked, quickening his pace with the hope that he would get to luncheon sooner.

Robert rolled his eyes. "Edith will be best served by marrying well and producing an heir. She's bright, but pursuing more of an education than she already has is a waste of time for her. What she needs to focus on is finding a suitable match, not spending her days in a classroom."

Though he and Robert were close in many ways, Anthony disagreed with the man and their class as a whole on this point. If a person, male or female, demonstrated a skill and passion for learning, who was he, or anyone for that matter, to prohibit such a person from pursuing the object of their mind's desire? Far be it from him to tell a woman that she must marry at such a young age rather than educate herself.

Maud was more educated than most women of their class and he always found that to be her most attractive asset. They could engage in long, deep conversations, Maud being able to spar with him better than most men. And they were able to share interests together, from reading to conversing in foreign languages, that most married couples in the aristocracy could never fathom sharing with their spouse. God, how he missed her.

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The last hour of the train ride seemed to pass at a glacial pace as the reality of Edith's sentence becoming all the more apparent. Her life was to exist to be a breeding mare, to allow a man to tell her what her opinions would be, what her destiny would be. The freedom and independence she had known at Cheltenham was no more, and it would likely never come again.

Finally, after arriving in Ripon, a handsome Irish chauffer of the house met her at the station and after loading her many trunks of clothes and books into the motorcar they departed for Downton. The Abbey appeared at the top of the long, gravel drive, and Edith could decipher a small greeting party gathered near the front entrance.

Although this place had technically been her home, it wasn't really. Everything seemed foreign to her, from the servants in their crisp livery to her father's dog; even her own sisters seemed unfamiliar. Her mother, Mary, and Sybil all greeted her with polite hugs and kisses to the cheek, but no one was exceptionally affectionate, as Edith had all but spent the better part of nine years away from them in Gloucestershire.

After pleasantries were exchanged, the Crawley women retired to the drawing room for tea, and at Cora's insistence, to catch up together. After all, it had been months since Edith had seen her relations, and longer since they had spent more than a few days together.

"Are you excited for the Season, Edie?" Sybil asked. The youngest Crawley daughter's blue eyes were wide with her quintessential enthusiasm, as she tried to live vicariously through her older sisters in matters such as these.

Edith opened her mouth to reply honestly, to tell her family that she detested that fact that she was yanked away from her life and her goals to participate in this archaic ritual, but when she caught her mother's penetrating gaze, she bit her tongue and instead replied, "Of course, Sybil. It'll be wonderful to experience London in the summertime."

The mother Crawley was pleased enough with this answer. "Mary adored her first Season: all the gallantry, the balls, and the tradition. It's the most exciting fun!"

When Edith caught sight of Mary, of the way her elder sister seemed to be delighting in a memory of Seasons past, she almost rolled her eyes. Was this to be the highlight of her life? Pageants and ball gowns and making calls?

As Edith focused her attentions on the steaming cup of tea meeting her lips and warming her throat, she heard a clatter in the nearby corridor. Voices exchanging muffled words, followed by her father opening the door to the drawing room, still clad in fishing attire.

"My darling girl!" Robert chimed, extending his arms out amiably to hug his daughter. Edith reluctantly set her tea down and embraced her father, kissing him lightly on each cheek, and quickly returning to her seat and her beloved tea thereafter.

"Are you glad to be home?" he asked her as Cora poured him a cup of tea.

The young woman could feel the four sets of eyes staring at her, pressuring her for an affirmation. "Absolutely, Papa. I missed Yorkshire immensely," she fibbed. In fact, quite the opposite was true.

Robert had just started to get cozy, leaning back in his chair and engaging his wife and eldest daughter in conversation when another man cautiously entered the drawing room.

"Sorry, Robert, my wellies were a bit muddy and a footman had to hose me off, or I would've left track marks through your home. Must've stepped in a ruddy puddle or some nonsense without realizing it," he rambled absentmindedly as he walked through the doorway, picking a leaf off his jacket and not bothering to look up.

But when he finally did and saw a room full of Crawleys, not just Robert, his demeanor immediately shifted from one of ease and comfort to one of intense embarrassment. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry for intruding. I'll just…just be leaving." His body had already turned to leave through the door he had just come through.

The man was exceptionally tall, with windblown blond hair and the bluest eyes Edith had ever seen. More peculiar, though, was his ensemble, for although it matched her father's with the same forest green rubber wading trousers and fishing cap, this man's looked rather funny. His rubber trousers hung loosely on him, as though he had recently lost some weight, and his tie was crooked, as though he generally didn't care too much for his appearance.

Despite this, Edith found him to be rather handsome, from his bashful, lopsided grin as he entered the room, to the thin blond moustache above his nervous lips. He seemed familiar, though, but Edith couldn't quite remember where she had seen him before.

"Nonsense, Anthony, old boy! Come sit and have some tea," Robert insisted as he gestured for his friend to take the seat nearest to him. "Lady Edith has just arrived."

It was then that Anthony sensed an unfamiliar presence in the room, one he was not used to among the drawing room of Downton Abbey. His eyes scanned the room of dark-haired, fair-eyed Crawleys and settled on the lone strawberry blonde, her dark eyes staring back at him, catching him quite off guard.

Was this really Edith? She was certainly _not_ as the baronet had remembered. Or rather, she was in that she had the same coloring as she did when he had seen her last, nearly a decade prior when she was still a little girl. But she was immensely different now; she was a woman. Her body was longer, leaner, but she had developed the womanliest curves, from her hips to her breasts and every delicious morsel in between; she was most certainly not a child any longer. And she seemed to have acquired a sense of social refinement, from the manner in which she sat to the manner in which she held her tea, so femininely. Her eyes, too, were bright, alert, and intelligent, following Anthony and inspecting him, sizing him up.

"You remember Sir Anthony, don't you, Edie?" Cora asked, trying desperately to fill the long silence that had settled in the room as her daughter and her husband's best friend stared at each other.

Her mother's words brought Edith back to the moment, her world suddenly and unfortunately filled with more people than this interesting male specimen in front of her.

"Oh, yes, of course, Mama. I remember Sir Anthony. It's so good to see you again," Edith replied with practiced geniality. In truth, she could barely remember the man, for she was sure that she would've remembered those eyes if she had seen them before. But then again, Edith hardly remembered anything from her life at Downton apart from the constant feeling that she didn't belong.

Anthony finally gathered his wits about him and crossed the room to shake the lady's hand. He bowed slightly as he took Edith's hand in his own; her skin was impossibly soft. Were women's hands always this way? "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Edith," he told her warmly. Anthony had almost forgotten that there were four other people in the room.

"The pleasure is all mine, Sir Anthony," Edith responded, adding a courtesy for good measure under her mother's watchful eye.

"Let me express regret for my attire," he apologized as he glanced down at his green wading trousers. "If I had known that I was to meet a lady this afternoon, _ladies _I mean," he corrected, hoping not to cause offense to the other three women in the room, "I would have been dressed far more appropriately."

"Nonsense," Robert interjected, standing up and patting his friend's shoulder. Anthony and Edith, unbeknownst to them, were still hold each other's hand and the earl thought it high time that this charade be put to an end; it was uncomfortable to watch. "I'm dressed in the same attire, Anthony."

The moment Robert's hand touched his shoulder, Anthony immediately released Edith's, much to the former's satisfaction and surprisingly, even to herself, to the latter's disappointment. "Even still," Anthony continued. "I should get going. Wouldn't want to intrude on Lady Edith's homecoming."

"You wouldn't be intruding. Please do join us for tea, Sir Anthony," Cora pleaded.

Anthony eventually acquiesced and took a seat next to Robert. The conversation picked up right where it had left off prior to his awkward interruption: discussion of Edith's upcoming Season, the weather, local politics and the like were the hot topics amongst the gathered group.

Such fare would usually delight Anthony, as he often enjoyed partaking in such conversations, even if all he did was listen. Today, however, was rather different. Anthony found that he could scarcely pay attention to his own tea and biscuits, let alone the discussion at hand, which made for some tense moments when the exchange was directed towards him for a response and he had to mumble something incoherent, praying that they would spare him and move on.

Instead, the baronet was wholly preoccupied with the strawberry blonde sipping her tea in the corner, feigning interest in the chitchat of her family, even when such topics concerned her and her Season. Once or twice, miraculously, Edith glanced in Anthony's direction, her eyes meeting his just over her teacup. He couldn't tell if she smiled or not when their eyes met, for the cup blocked the view of her mouth, but he instantly chastised himself for the thought. Edith was his best friend's daughter, barely twenty while he was rounding forty-five. Whatever was stirring him at the mere sight of her was atrocious and must be stopped immediately.

When the conversation lulled, Anthony jumped at the opportunity to excuse himself. He needed to put as much distance between himself and Downton, and the delicious strawberry blonde inside of it, as he could.

"I really must be going, Robert; I have some work to do on my ledgers this evening," Anthony explained as he stood up and readied himself to depart. "Lady Grantham, please accept my thanks for the lovely tea and biscuits."

"You're welcome here anytime, Sir Anthony," Cora offered with a smile as she shook hands with the baronet. "In fact, why not come over for dinner the day after tomorrow? It'll be a great homecoming feast for our Edith."

Anthony internally groaned. He needed to stay far way from this place for a while, at least until the Crawleys left for the Season in London in a few weeks. Instead, he did what all gentlemen must when invited to dinner by the lady of the house in person. "Of course, Lady Grantham. I would like that very much," he responded. _Much more than I probably ought to._

Mary and Sybil also stood up to say goodbye to their father's friend, and lastly, Edith did as well. She extended her hand to the baronet and after glancing at it for a moment, Anthony took it in his own.

"It was so good to see you again, Sir Anthony," Edith told him, her eyes gleaming. "Perhaps we can all catch up more formally in a few days."

Anthony Strallan, though a regular conversationalist, and a witty one at that, was dumbstruck in front of this woman. He opened his mouth and closed it multiple times in quick succession, trying to find the right words. He settled on some pathetic, almost incoherent rambling. "Ahhh, yes, that should be delightful, Lady Edith. Delightful, indeed."

Embarrassed at making a fool of himself in front of his best friend and his exquisite daughter, Anthony hastily released Edith's hand, turned on his heal, and departed for the safer confines of his own ancestral home of Locksley Estate.

The rest of the Crawley clan had taken their seats again and resumed their conversation as though Anthony had not been a part of it (though for all intents and purposes, he really hadn't, as his time was spent staring at Edith rather than contributing to the talk). Edith, however, stood where she was, and only after Anthony's tall frame had departed from view did she sit back down again.

Her tea had gone cold, though she sipped it anyway if it meant that her mouth was preoccupied and she wouldn't be asked prodding questions. As Edith nibbled on some biscuits to keep up the act, Sybil leaned over to her and whispered, "I don't think I've ever seen Sir Anthony so flustered. I wonder what's gotten into him. He's usually always so proper and reserved."

As her younger sister leaned away, Edith could have sworn that she saw a flicker of mischief in the girl's eyes. Sybil, of course, had had much more regular contact with Sir Anthony than Edith ever had, so perhaps she was a trustworthy source in the matter.

Edith tried to ignore Sybil's inference, but it chewed at her mind, sat down in her brain and stifled any other thought that wanted to be expressed. Drowning out the inane conversation and staring out at Downton's vast landscapes through the window, the young woman replayed the encounter in her head over and over. Though she had known him for little under a half an hour, for the first time in her entire life, Edith felt the desire to learn more about this person. Often enough, solitude was preferred to the company of people, books and lessons offering far more companionship to Edith than any individual ever could.

But there was something about Anthony Strallan, something Edith couldn't quite decipher or put her finger on that made her want to know everything about the man.

Dinner in two days' time seemed an eternity away…


	2. A Dinner Party

A/N: Wow, thank you all so very much for the lovely reviews for the last chapter! You guys are great! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

Also, I'm really digging all of the wonderful stories in our lovely fandom. It's been over a year and a half since our ship tragically sank in canon (though I'm still holding out hope for S5!), and yet, this Andith community is as strong as ever! Constant new stories popping up, excellent and fabulously written updates, supportive readership…if only Fellowes could see us!

I hope you enjoy this chapter! I'd love to hear what you have to say about it :)

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The sun has just gone to bed, its departing remnants casting a bluish, twilight hue across the sky, and yet, as the sun and the woodland creatures and the inhabitants of Yorkshire rested, Edith Crawley sat upright in bed, unable to sleep a wink.

She had been staring at the same page in her book for several long minutes, reading and re-reading it, yet retaining none of its contents. The young woman was far too distracted to read, something that had never plagued her before. In a huff, Edith slammed the book shut, tossed it aside, and turned her lantern down. Perhaps it was best to sleep anyway; her homecoming dinner was tomorrow and not only did that mean that she would need her energy for hours of pointless and inane drivel masquerading as dinner conversation, but that a particular gentleman would make his way back to the Abbey.

Anthony Strallan, the gentleman in question, had been the source of her distraction as of late, his bright blue eyes staring back at her whenever Edith closed her own, his lopsided grin causing her to smile whenever she reminisced about it. Her interest in him was preposterous, however, and Edith was quite aware of this. She had known the man no longer than half an hour, certainly not long enough to discern his intellect or his thoughts and views on literature or women's suffrage or other such matters, and certainly not long enough to know him in any real or significant way.

But this lack of acquaintance did not stop Edith's heart from fluttering at the thought of the baronet in his silly green wading trousers and crooked tie, nor did it stop her from looking forward to tomorrow's dinner with immense anticipation.

What was this, the young woman wondered. What could cause a rational, levelheaded woman to think such things, feel such things without any warrant whatsoever?

Her contact with non-familial men, as it so happened, was practically nonexistent. There had been a few male professors at Cheltenham, bookish, intelligent, and good-natured: all things Edith found agreeable in any person, let alone a man. But never before had Edith been so taken with a person, so charmed in the extreme or with such immediacy.

Was this what Mary and Sybil called a "crush?" Is this what Mary felt with Cousin Matthew and what Sybil denied having with the Irish chauffer, but so many knew otherwise? And what a strange feeling it was. Although Edith would remind herself not to dwell on such things, to dismiss them for the folly that they were, her heart would not comply. It was a nuisance, but one that was annoyingly pleasant.

Sleep was doing its best to elude her, so Edith threw the sheets from her body and made her way across her bedroom to the window seat. Pulling her knees up to her chest, Edith looked out longingly at the cluster of trees a few hundred yards from her window. Had she been at Cheltenham at this moment, she would have, as she almost always did on nights when she couldn't sleep, slipped into her robe, tiptoed down the stairs, and wandered across the school's lawn, letting the fresh dew soak her feet and dampen the hem of her nightgown. The spring flowers that had just bloomed would intoxicate her, the croaking of the toads and the chirps of the night bugs would sing their lullaby to her, and the cool night air would soothe her: it was the perfect remedy for sleeplessness, as Edith would always return to her bed, albeit somewhat damp and covered in grass and leaves, eager for slumber.

But Edith wasn't at Cheltenham; she was a Downton where such a nighttime stroll was out of the question as Carson, the butler, locked the doors to the Abbey at night and he alone possessed the keys. Short of breaking a window, Edith saw no way out; she was, for all purposes, trapped.

And wasn't it ironic to be trapped both in the literal sense and the actual? Bound by the rules and expectations of her class to participate in a ritual of which she had no desire or interest was a prime example of entrapment, almost as much as being stuck in her home until the butler unlocked the doors at dawn.

The upcoming Season would be torture for the young woman, highly reminiscent of one of Dante's inner circles. Edith had no desire to be married, no desire forfeit her education and her dreams to give a man heirs and help him solidify his position in society. What she wanted, what she truly desired, was to explore the limits of her mind, to read endlessly and learn unceasingly. She wanted to go to Vassar, to live the life of a mind, and afterwards perhaps write or teach, anything to surround herself with intellectual pursuits.

And this was why this interest, or whatever one could call it, that Edith had developed on Sir Anthony Strallan was exceptionally absurd, not only because she knew him so little, but because, if she were to marry, especially a man of her own class, certain things would be expected of her: childrearing, charity work, supporting her husband's goals and desires, thinking little of her own.

Her dreams of further education, of a career, and of freedom would be quashed the moment she said, "I do."

No, she wanted nothing of that sort of life. Edith vowed to herself as she crawled back into bed that she would participate in the Season, only marginally, putting no effort into attracting a suitor, and she would keep Anthony Strallan at arms length. Whatever was stirring in her, these _feelings_…well, they would have to go.

But the heart cannot be so easily tamed, for despite Edith's insistence that she would think nothing more of the baronet or his ill-fitting wading trousers, his blue eyes were the last thing she thought of before drifting into a deep slumber.

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Lady Edith Crawley fancied herself to be a headstrong woman: independent, almost stubborn to a fault. So she found it exceptionally frustrating when she could not manage to tear her eyes away from Anthony Strallan when he arrived the following night in Downton's drawing room. He looked far more put together than he did days earlier in his fishing attire; his hair was combed, not a strand out of place, he was dressed in tails, not tweed and rubber trousers, and his white tie was unfortunately in its proper place, not adorably askew as she had last seen him. With urgency, she excused herself from her conversation with Sybil and Cousin Isobel to seek refuge in a distant corner of the drawing room, a place where her uncooperative gaze could not follow Anthony Strallan's tall, lean form.

Anthony, for his part, paid his dues to the host and hostess, but was rather preoccupied during the handshakes, his eyes constantly making a hasty glance around the room for a glimpse of Edith before returning to Robert and Cora. In spite of this, he thought himself to be a right old fool, a cad. How else could one describe a man who, for two days and nights, had been so consumed with thoughts of a young woman barely past adolescence, so many decades younger than himself, and the daughter of his best friend no less? A cad he was, of that, Anthony had no doubt.

Another dinner guest arrived, taking Anthony's place in front of Lord and Lady Grantham to greet them, so the baronet was free to grab a flute of champagne and roam the drawing room in search of a conversation partner before dinner began. There were a dozen or so people present: neighbors and friends of the Crawleys, the Dowager Countess, Robert's heir, Matthew, and both the eldest and youngest Crawley daughters. Edith, however, was nowhere to be seen, as much of an enigma now as she was all those years whilst at Cheltenham.

He moved through the small crowd, offering pleasant nods and courteous smiles as he passed fellow partygoers, his legs moving in search of the young woman despite his protests. At last, he spotted her. She was standing in front of a massive oil painting of the first Earl of Grantham, inspecting it rigorously while she sipped her champagne. It was curious, the way Edith leaned forward to scrutinize the brushstrokes of a painting she had likely seen hundreds of times before during a dinner party in her own honor, but Anthony found it charming nonetheless.

Unbeknownst to the baronet, Edith was doing everything she could, shy of abandoning the dinner party entirely, to avoid Anthony Strallan. She knew that if she spent even an hour with him, these feelings, these blissfully annoying emotions that had been stirring since the moment he walked into her home in fishing attire, would never go away. Her freedom, her independence, the creation of her own destiny depended on staying as far away from this brilliantly handsome man as she could.

When a tall figure appeared beside her to examine the first earl's portrait, Edith both internally groaned and felt her heart skip a bit when those blue eyes settled on her and that crooked grin greeted her.

They both awkwardly stared at the painting in silence, neither of them willing or able to speak first. The contents of their champagne flutes were disappearing in rapid, consecutive increments as Edith and Anthony sought refuge in the fizzy liquid to quell the nerves that so rattled them both. Anthony, however, fell back on his gentlemanly upbringing and ended the silence between them.

"He has your father's eyes," he blurted out dumbly, motioning towards the portrait. Ridiculous. Where had the witty conversationalist that was once Anthony Strallan gone?

A puzzled expression plagued Edith's face. "I beg your pardon?"

"Ahh, the, err, the first earl: he and your father share the same eyes. That must be a very strong hereditary trait, to be passed on through seven generations in that manner," Anthony stuttered. The champagne was finished off forthwith and the man unconsciously ran a finger along the inside of his starched shirt collar, his finger whisking away the sweat that had formed there.

Observing the baronet so flustered, and armed with Sybil's inference from their first encounter that Sir Anthony seemed rattled as of late, made Edith forget all about the vow she had made to herself only hours prior in the safety of her own room, far away from those delicious blue eyes staring back at her. Words then came out of her mouth without her permission.

"A very keen observation, Sir Anthony. Not many others notice such a trait. Lady Sybil inherited my father's eyes, or as you put it, the first earl's. Lady Mary and I, on the other hand, have our grandfather's, my mother's father, that is."

The man couldn't help himself, as though he were compelled by something stronger than his own will, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from Edith's warm brown irises after she mentioned them, so dark and, as he gazed further, with flecks of green and gold around her pupil. "And what lovely eyes they are, Lady Edith," Anthony heard himself say.

The crooked grin that had been on his face fell in an instant, as did his stomach within his body cavity when his words sunk in. He was already preparing himself for the chastisement that was to come. After all, what young woman would want to be on the receiving end of a sloppy attempt at flirtation by a man such as himself?

But the baronet was surprised, some might even say shocked, when instead of a harsh rebuff, he was graced with an appreciative grin. Edith's eyes had darted to the floor, and she bit the inside corner of her mouth as Anthony's words echoed in her ears. The compliments Edith usually received were practiced ones, given only out of courtesy and custom, not out of any sense of honesty or genuineness; but Anthony's compliment seemed wholly sincere. His unwavering gaze was the dead giveaway, as was his instantaneous panic when he realized what he had unconsciously uttered.

"You're too kind, Sir Anthony. Far too kind," Edith said at last, a hint of humor lacing her tone with the hope that it would calm the baronet's nerves.

Anthony almost sighed with relief. "Hardly, my lady. A gentleman must be honest, if he can." _And a fool if he can't help himself._

Silence settled upon the pair again, interrupted only by the saving grace of a footman with more champagne. Edith and Anthony eagerly exchanged their now empty flutes for full ones and began quenching their nerves, as well as their thirst, as soon as the footman departed.

"So, ah, Lady Edith, I hear you were quite the student at Cheltenham. Is that right?" Anthony inquired. He knew that he had picked an agreeable topic when Edith's dark eyes widened with enthusiasm, as though any opportunity to discuss her schooling was one to be seized and taken advantage of.

"Oh, yes, I adored my time at Cheltenham! It came to an end all too quickly," she told him, her ease apparent.

"Yes, I felt the exact same when I left Eton, and later Cambridge. Although I am rather fond of working with my tenants at Locksley and ensuring their prosperity, there was something to be said about the life of a scholar," Anthony divulged, his mind drifting to memories past, to the lectures and the readings, even the exams; he missed it more than he ought to. "I could have spent my entire life attending university if my father hadn't passed away and Locksley passed to me. It really was a grand time."

"Cheltenham was the same way: my professors were outstanding, and the books and curriculum were, as well. I never wanted to leave."

"Neither did I," Anthony told her. The pair stared at each other for a long moment, as though they had just discovered that they shared something no one else in the world did. The baronet, while popular because of his association with Robert, had always been the lone bookworm in their social circle; the earl's daughter, too, was the singular person in her family who took pleasure in learning for its own sake.

A light fit of skittish chuckling broke out between the two and when it died down, a different mood took hold of them.

With more confidence than he had possessed only moments ago, Anthony took a step closer to the painting and in turn, to Edith. Stealing a peek around the room to ensure that he was not under Robert's watchful eye, Anthony leaned in and said, "Although your father has an impressive library, I would wager good money that he did not save his texts from our Cambridge days. If you were interested, by chance, you would be more than welcome to come to Locksley some time and look at mine, Lady Edith. Some of them are quite different from what you'd find in an ordinary library."

A fortifying surge of adrenaline rushed through Edith's veins at the thought of partaking in something so wonderful with this man, and, perhaps due to the effects of such a hormone, the young woman completely forgot about her vow to stay away from all men, Anthony Strallan in particular. It was as if part of her was acting on its own accord, without her permission, and she found that resistance had proven to be futile when it concerned this particular man.

"I-I would love to, Sir Anthony. That's very kind of you," Edith replied with excitement that bubbled over.

"Excellent! How about tomorrow afternoon after luncheon? I'll serve tea, yes?"

"That would be wonderful."

Their proximity to one another grew even smaller, unconsciously on both their parts, mind you. But with the offer to continue their conversation about learning and education with each other, away from the loud chatter of their fellow partygoers, Edith and Anthony just couldn't help themselves.

Later that night, after the homecoming dinner had ended and the guests returned home, Edith and Anthony laid in their respective bedrooms wondering how on earth the events of the evening had managed to unfold in the way they did. They both had tried, and failed, to keep their distance from one another tonight and in the end, the two of them had done the exact opposite of what they had planned.

More curious to both of them, as they contemplated such things under their covers while trying to fight off the sandman, was why neither Edith nor Anthony seemed to be disappointed with their apparent lack of success in trying to avoid the other.

Edith should have been very disappointed in her own actions for allowing herself to react the way she had to a man. Feeling such things for a man could only lead to one thing: love. And with that meant the end of her independence, for how could a woman in today's day and age ever seek to make something of herself as her own woman if she were married? It was bad enough that the London Season was approaching, with threats to her freedom at every turn. But this situation with Anthony Strallan seemed all the more pressing. Fending off an abstract suitor seemed easy enough; doing the same to the baronet with the bluest eyes was a different story altogether.

And yet, even in the face of all of this, the young woman found herself looking forward to her teatime with Sir Anthony tomorrow with more zeal than she had ever looked forward to anything else before. What was happening to her? Who on earth was she becoming?

The possibilities both frightened and intrigued her all the same.


	3. Teatime

A/N: Thank you all so very, very much for the lovely reviews for the last chapter, as well as the very sweet PMs. I appreciate your support immensely! As for this chapter, we'll see Edith and Anthony both bonding and wanting to put the other at arms length. Quite a conundrum! I don't want to give away too much, so you'll just have to read to see how this plays out ;)

I do hope you enjoy this! I'd love to hear from you about it :D

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Amidst the clattering of plates and silverware as they went about their lunching duties, to the low chatter of country politics and the Season, Lady Edith Crawley's heart was a flutter and her mind active, as busy as a bee. After all, as soon as this luncheon met its end, the young woman would have no further obstacles in her way for tea with a certain awkwardly handsome baronet. No more excuses or obligations to see to. Just an afternoon free to take her tea.

She tried to calm herself, both mind and heart, and desperately endeavored to dismiss these recent developments, these notions of admiration and attraction, for the folly that they were. Because certainly, no matter how much her body reacted to the mere thought of impending tea with the baronet, no matter how much she couldn't seem to muster an appetite despite how hard she tried, Edith knew that this entire plan was a disaster waiting to happen.

It just had to be, though, hadn't it?

But it was too late to cancel. Luncheon would conclude shortly; all the assembled Crawleys were devouring the last morsels of beef tenderloin and potato puree, anxious to get on with their day of leisure. Even Carson, the ever faithful butler, seemed jittery at his post next to the chafing dishes, as though even he were eager to depart from Downton's dining room.

Robert Crawley, sitting at the head of the table, crossed his fork and knife, and set his napkin on the table. "Well, ladies, I'm off. Quite a few meetings lined up with the tenants this afternoon," he announced as he stood and Carson swooped to clear his plates. The Crawley women took this as their signal that they, too, should carry on with the day; they all stood up. All of them except, of course, the middle daughter.

Her body was seemingly glued to the seat. So much of her longed to stand, to freshen up for teatime, to sprint to Locksley Manor, but that rational part of her mind, recalling the threat that her feelings for her father's friend posed, kept her seated.

"Edith, darling, are you all right?" Cora inquired, her tone motherly and concerned. "You've hardly had a thing to eat!"

The young woman turned her dark eyes to her mother's with a great degree of reluctance; she wasn't used to having people, her mother especially, concern themselves with her eating habits.

"Hmm?" she mumbled. "No, no, I'm fine. I think I just need a bit of fresh air this afternoon."

Cora's face softened. "Of course. All the travelling you've done recently must have worn you out. Get some fresh Yorkshire air and tomorrow afternoon, we'll head into Ripon for some fittings. What do you say?"

Edith wanted to ignore the bright gleam in her mother's eyes, to dismiss this pathetic ritual in she was forced to participate, but these people, for better or worse, were her family, and she just couldn't bring herself to rebuke them so early in the day.

"That sounds…great, Mama," Edith forced herself to say. It was difficult, but it was finished. That seemed satisfactory enough for her mother and father, and the Crawley family departed on the turn of their heels.

She checked her wristwatch: only an hour before tea with the baronet. Edith longed to see him again, against her better judgment. Despite the protests of rational mind, ardent at best and persistent at worst, Edith had thought little else besides Sir Anthony and his ill-fitting wading trousers since she met him. This, of course, was exacerbated by her homecoming dinner last night, by his nervous mumblings and shy conversation at the foot of the oil painting, by his clandestine glances in her direction during the meal. And she was completely certain that this…_problem_ would only become all the more pronounced after tea in…fifty-eight minutes.

"Milady? Are you finished here?" Carson asked as though he were annoyed with her prolonged presence at the dining room table. He and a team of footmen were evidently waiting on her to leave so they could clean the table.

"Oh, of course! My apologies, Carson," Edith gasped, woken from her trance, and she hastily excused herself from the room for the safer, less embarrassing confines of her quarters.

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The air flowed through Edith's strawberry blonde hair, its lavender and lilac breeze perfuming her skin and her clothes. Being like this, with no one but herself to keep her company, whizzing along the streets of Ripon on her bicycle en route to Locksley…well, it was a sweet respite from her captivity at the Abbey.

After luncheon, Edith had changed into an ensemble more befitting of bicycle riding: a simple blue dress, sensible footwear, and a light jacket should it rain, as it so often did in the English countryside during the springtime.

In the interim between luncheon and teatime with Sir Anthony, reason seemed to abandon Lady Edith; her heart became more dominant as the distance between she and Locksley grew smaller. She thought of Anthony's lopsided grin, of those boyish blond curls, of his nervous chuckle when he felt he had overstepped his bounds in a conversation; taunting her still were the love of learning they both shared, the countless books they had discussed, and the undeniable sense that this man was different from all the rest.

Rational thought seemed beyond her grasp as Locksley Manor came into view; no, the heart had full control of Lady Edith this afternoon, teasing her with butterflies in her stomach, with a racing pulse, with a smile that wouldn't seem to fade.

Edith demounted her bicycle, smoothed down her dress and her curls, and reached for the doorknocker, an intimidating lion clutching the ring in his mouth. She rapped on the entrance twice, only for an elderly butler clad in crisp livery to open the door before she could knock for a third time.

"You must be Lady Edith," the butler greeted warmly, his weathered face forming a welcoming grin that rivalled his employer's in its geniality.

Edith felt at ease and nodded. "I am."

"Do come in, my lady. Sir Anthony is waiting for you in the library," he told her, extending his arm to usher the young woman inside the gingerbread walls of the Strallan ancestral home.

Though she had been accustomed to country manors of the nobility since birth, Edith had never been inside one quite like Sir Anthony Strallan's. Its warmth radiated throughout the halls, feeling far more like a home than any she had ever set foot in before; somehow, it reminded Edith of its master, inviting and unassuming, comforting and agreeable. She adored it at once.

"Right this way, my lady," the butler offered as he opened the French doors to Locksley's library. "Lady Edith Crawley, sir."

Anthony's features, which had been stern as he focused on what Edith presumed to be estate ledgers, softened and brightened when their gaze fell upon one another. He immediately stood and gestured towards the sitting area, a cozy cluster of settees and couches nestled around the fireplace and coffee table.

"Lady Edith! I'm so glad you could come," Anthony greeted cheerfully. It was clear that Edith's presence in his home was a favorable addition; he was glowing. Turning towards his butler, he added, "Thank you, Wilson. Would you kindly bring us tea and ask Mrs. Lucas to include some of those scrumptious biscuits I smelled her baking this morning?"

"Of course, sir," Wilson affirmed before bowing and departing to execute his orders.

Truly alone for the first time in their short acquaintance, Edith and Anthony stared at one another and a skittish chuckle enveloped them both.

"W-where are my manners? Please, Lady Edith, have a seat," Anthony stuttered, waiting for his guest to sit before taking his own seat across from her. Once settled, he unconsciously picked at imaginary lint on his tweed trousers and straightened his marigold bowtie. "I trust you had a pleasant journey here?" 

"Mm, yes. I rode my bicycle here, as it's such a lovely day for some fresh air," Edith replied. She felt jittery without something to occupy her hands at this moment, so she settled for smoothing her dress down once again.

"Bicycle? Jolly good! I haven't ridden one of those since my youth," he told her. Edith smiled in reply, but nothing else was said on the matter. "So, ah, Lady Edith—"

"Edith, please," the woman interrupted, not knowing where she had obtained such gusto. More shyly, she added, "Just…Edith."

Anthony's eyebrows rose, for he wasn't accustomed to a young woman becoming so familiar so soon. It was, however, a welcomed reform; sometimes, titles were too fussy, especially when he wanted to get to know a particular woman rather well, to know all that she thought and all that she felt.

"Well, then…_Edith_, please call me Anthony," he told her fondly just as Wilson entered the room with a tray full of goodies. "Ah, thank you, Wilson."

Anthony leaned over the tray in front of him and poured two cups with an expert hand. "How do you take yours, La-…Edith," he asked, catching himself before adding her title.

"Two sugars and a dash of milk, please."

Edith watched in fascination as the baronet's hands moved deftly across the tray, his long, slender fingers pouring and scooping with precision. Never before had she been so enthralled with a tea ritual. But, then again, Edith hadn't ever been taken so entirely with someone before.

Once their respective teas were prepared and the biscuits divided between them like lots, the unlikely pair settled into a peaceful silence, mixed only with the sipping of hot liquid and the crunching of Mrs. Lucas's delectable treats.

"Your cook is marvelous!" Edith offered as she set an empty plate down in front of her. "I haven't tasted anything so wonderful."

"That's very kind of you to say, Edith. I'll be sure to pass the compliments onto Mrs. Lucas."

As Anthony set his teacup on the end table, Edith watched him, captivated by his gentle nature, by his thin moustache and wispy blond hair, by the way he made her feel at ease in his home. How on earth was a man like Anthony Strallan friends with her papa? They seemed opposite in the extreme, wholly incompatible: her father was rash and haughty, while this man was sweet and unassuming. What on earth could the two men find in common?

"So, you're here to see books, aren't you?" Anthony mentioned, breaking the silence between them, and causing Edith's thoughtful reverie to cease with a flinch.

"Oh, yes, I certainly am," she replied, a watery smile gracing her lips.

"Well, then, books you shall see," he boasted. In fact, books were practically all Edith could see, as this room was filled to the brim with them, in every corner, nook and cranny, in stacks and left open on tables as though Anthony was planning to return to them at any moment. It was a library that would rival many. Edith fell in love with it.

The baronet stood and walked over to the largest shelf, built into the wall, completely brimming with leather-bound tomes. "While my work with the estate and the tenants occupies most of my time, I always love retreating here after a long day to the company of my books. They never cease to amaze me."

Edith joined him and inspected his collection. Running her fingers along the leather spines, she grinned. "Have you read all of them?"

"Almost all," he replied, his normal humility waning as some degree of pride seeped into his tone. "Many of these were my father's, but I've added quite a fair number to it over the years."

"And the ones from your university days?" Edith prompted.

"Oh, yes! Those are over here," Anthony exclaimed, as though he had just remembered. With his hand resting ever so faintly between Edith's shoulder blades, he led her to a bookshelf in the far corner of Locksley's grand library. "Here are most of them, the ones worth saving anyway."

The young Crawley surveyed the books resting on the shelf, dusty, but seemingly anxious to be opened and devoured once again: Kant, Aristotle, Anselm, Mill, Maimonides, Plato, Kierkegaard, among countless others.

"You're a philosopher," Edith told him, as though her pronouncement was some sort of magical peering into his soul.

Blushing. "I wouldn't call myself that," Anthony mumbled, the humility and modesty back in his tone in full force. "I just enjoyed reading and thinking about philosophy, about life and its intricacies. Nothing more."

"Nothing more? I would say that that is a bit far from 'nothing more,'" Edith teased. "What did you enjoy most about university? Tell me; I need to live vicariously through someone." 

Anthony mindlessly pulled a book from the shelf, pretending to skim through its contents while he said, "Oh, well, university was a grand time. I read philosophy, as did your father, but I always seemed to live for school, as though it had been the source and summit of my existence, more so than most of my peers. I had friends, of course, mostly through your father (he really was devilishly popular), but I was never more content than when I was crammed in the library at Pembroke College reading Abelard or Marx. I never really wanted to leave."

The pair, meandering as Anthony reminisced, made their way back to the sitting area, Edith as much enamoured with Anthony's storytelling as the baronet was to relive it.

"I rowed for my college, as well; your father did, too. Long, lean men are always in high demand for crew," he told her, unaware that she was nearly hypnotized with the low timbre of his voice. "Anyway, I enjoyed my time at university. The studies, the camaraderie, the athletics…it all came to an end too quickly."

"When Locksley passed to you?" Edith added, remembering their conversation from last night.

"Mm, yes. My father passed away just after graduation. He was an older man, as was my mother; they met much later in life and were older parents to my sister and I, as it turns out. Anyway, I had to shelve any notion of graduate studies or a lecturer position aside. Duty called."

"Yes, I know all about duty," Edith mumbled bitterly. What a blasted thing it was!

"Ah, yes, your father told me you are to participate in your first Season in a few weeks," Anthony exclaimed, though he realized he had brought up a very disagreeable subject when he noticed Edith's rapid change in disposition.

"I am, yes," she replied. Her words were curt, harsh.

Anthony leaned forward in his seat, intrigued; young women of their class were always so eager for the Season around this time of year. Treading with caution, he proceeded. "Are…are you not looking forward to the Season?"

Edith's gaze, which had been averted as she mulled over her unfortunate station, suddenly shot up. Was this man, this kind, gentle man asking her honest opinion about something? No one cared to know her thoughts on anything. Surely, it couldn't be so.

But it was.

Anthony's sapphire eyes pressed her, widening in encouragement. She proceeded. "I am not too keen to participate in the Season, no."

The baronet stifled a grin; this young woman was already turning out to be far more riveting than anyone he knew. "And why not?" he asked warmly.

Edith had a litany of reasons prepared, a whole inventory of complaints ready at a moment's notice for anyone who asked, though they seldom did. She was preparing herself to list them off in order, but sighed, exhausted before she even began.

Instead, she offered the baronet the simplest explanation she could muster. "Because I genuinely don't want to go."

Anthony chuckled light-heartedly. "Fair enough. I always loathed the Season, as well, but for different reasons, I'd wager. Far too much chitchat, not enough substance."

"Exactly!" Edith nearly shouted, shocked at finding a kindred soul among her class. "Such a preposterous ritual for someone who doesn't even want to be married!"

"You don't want to get married?" Anthony asked her. He was curious, but far from judgmental. After all, he had never known a woman, a daughter of an earl, no less, who had no desire to marry. Edith Crawley was peculiar in that regard, but he found that he was growing fond of her anyway. Or perhaps because of it.

Edith felt that she had revealed too much, that she had been too honest. Her downfall. She was always presuming that people were more like she than they actually were. No one was like her; she was alone in this world.

In a jolt, the young woman stood up as if to excuse herself. "I-I am sorry, but I must go," she stuttered, grabbing her gloves and turning to leave the library.

"Wait!" Anthony cried out, reaching for her hand, but pulling his arm away on second thoughts. "Edith, don't go. I wasn't judging, I was merely curious. I'm sure you have excellent reasons for your decision. I hope you'll forgive my speaking out of turn."

Edith turned around and caught the very pleading eyes of a worrisome baronet. She didn't say anything; for the first time in her life, Edith didn't know what to say. Was this man telling her that he respected her opinions, that he trusted that she came to such decisions thoughtfully and reasonably? It was remarkable, to say the least.

Desperate to rekindle the amiable conversation that existed before his imprudence, Anthony did what any decent gentleman would. "Edith, would you care to go for a walk, perhaps get out of this dreary library?"

After a moment to collect her thoughts, a shy smile crept up on Edith's face. "Your library isn't dreary in the least," she told him, teasing him.

He opened his mouth to reply, only to realize that she jesting with him. Immensely glad of her implied pardon, Anthony ushered his companion into the hall, where Wilson met them and assisted them in putting on their jackets.

Walking side-by-side, Edith and Anthony ventured outside into the early afternoon sunlight to explore the grounds of Locksley, and perhaps other, more personal things. They strolled along a well-worn footpath, which Edith presumed Anthony had trekked a fair amount of times, down towards a small lake, meandering near its wildflowers and long grass without a schedule or a deadline. The pair roamed the grounds for quite some time, wordlessly, simply basking in the warm Yorkshire sun and the presence of the other.

Eventually, however, the many thoughts running through the baronet's mind poured out, unable to be restrained for a moment longer. "I am sorry, Edith, for my comments earlier. It was not my place to ask you something like that."

Edith's movements came to a halt and she looked up at her father's best friend. His words were sincere, honest. Leading him to gazebo she had spotted near the edge of the water, Edith sat down and finally addressed him. "You don't have to be sorry in the least. I can understand your confusion. Marriage is what's expected of me, after this coming Season if my parents' wishes come true. But, I don't believe it's for me. My heart doesn't want it; it wants to learn, to continue my education, to…have a career, even."

The young woman looked at the baronet, her dark eyes observing his reaction. She continued before he had a chance to respond. "I know it's completely preposterous, and perhaps some time in the future, I will want to get married. Just…just not yet. I have things I want to do before I tie my life irreparably to another person. No one knows this, not even my mother or father, but I almost applied to attend university in America, you know."

"That is splendid, Edith!" he exclaimed, truly sharing in her joy in the matter. It was a secret to which Anthony alone was privy and this notion pleased the baronet more than it ought to.

Edith's smile faded into one that was wholly bittersweet. "Yes, Vassar College. That's where I wanted to go, with hopes of studying literature or writing."

"'Wanted?' As in, past tense?"

She nodded solemnly. Only two words were needed to explain. "The Season."

Suddenly, it all made sense to the baronet and he sadly nodded his head in understanding. "Ah, I see. I'm very sorry to hear about that, Edith."

"Perhaps I'll still go, especially if I completely botch my chances of finding a suitor this summer," Edith said with a shrug, seemingly teasing, though Anthony wasn't sure if she were or not.

"Or, you'll find a handsome suitor who encourages your education, who takes you to Vassar, himself!" Anthony offered sincerely. He wished with all that he had that Edith would find someone who would encourage her, not stifle everything about her that he lov…that was so wonderful.

Edith stared at him for a moment, her gaze inching over him, inspecting. But, suddenly and without warning, she burst into laughter, clutching her stomach, endlessly giggling for the absurdity of Anthony's proposal. As if such a man existed, she mused.

"You are too funny, Anthony. I don't know _how_ you're friends with dull, old Papa!"

A nervous chuckle escaped the man and eventually, Edith's laughter subsided. Blue eyes stared at brown intently, unable to look away, as though Anthony were debating within himself about what he was about to say.

"You know, even though you aren't going to university _yet_, you shouldn't stop your education now that you've left Cheltenham. You should keep with it, especially if you plan to go to Vassar someday. Wouldn't want to fall behind, would you?" he stammered, almost out of breath for having rattled off so much so quickly.

Edith smiled, a wry little grin. Was Anthony seeking to prolong their acquaintance? The heart that had only recently gained dominance in the young woman rejoiced.

"No, no, I had planned to continue reading, mostly books from Papa's library," she told him, silently praying that he would offer more.

"Mm, yes, of course," Anthony admitted, feeling daft for neglecting to remember that Edith lived in a proper English estate, complete with a respectable, some would say enviable, library. Still, he could think of no other reason that she would want to take tea with him on any future occasion except for his library. Any other offer of his would seem presumptuous and clearly motive-based. "On the other hand, if you ever tire of reading your father's books, you're welcome here any time to peruse some of mine."

It was a stretch, for why would a young woman like Edith, with a magnificent library at her disposal in her own home, ever want to make the trek to Locksley to look at his motley collection of over-worn books?

But life can be curious at times, particularly in matters of the heart.

"I would love to, Anthony!" Edith blurted out, far too soon after an offer to be ladylike. But she cared not. "Might I stop by some time later this week and actually read a few? Papa has very few philosophy texts, and certainly nothing like Kierkegaard or Maimonides."

Anthony nearly refused to believe his ears, for he was certain that they deceived him. But before he knew it, the pair had scheduled yet another teatime just two days away, where books and conversation and Mrs. Lucas's biscuits were to be abundant.

The sun arched its way over the sky, preparing for its descent. Dinner was looming and Edith still had to get back to the Abbey in time to change for the evening meal. Reluctantly, the unlikely pair stood from their cozy spot in the gazebo and walked back towards Locksley.

"I've had a lovely time chatting with you today, Edith," Anthony told the young woman. "Very lovely, indeed."

"Likewise, Anthony. I haven't had an afternoon this enjoyable since I left Cheltenham; actually, this one rivals most others in recent memory."

Anthony became rather bashful at her compliment. They neared Locksley's gravel drive and Edith approached her bicycle, propped against the side of the gingerbread walls.

Her hands clutching the handles, Edith hesitated, certainly not eager to depart from this wonderful place and such spectacular company so soon. Anthony noticed how she stalled, taking her time getting onto the bicycle, readying herself and fidgeting with its mechanisms superfluously. With her many quirks and eccentricities, Anthony found this young woman to be endlessly fascinating and he knew that he wouldn't be able to deny his regard for her for much longer.

Before he could stop himself, however, Anthony blurted, "I wish you didn't have to go so soon." _Cad! Imbecile! What on earth was that?_ He opened his mouth to apologize for such stupidity, but was stopped when he realized that Edith, not with a scowl on her face or any such expression, was approaching him.

Edith's reply came, not in words, but in a single kiss to his cheek. It was quick, over with in a millisecond, but her lavender and lilac scent threatened to haunt the baronet for far longer.

"Goodbye, Anthony. I'll see you on Saturday," Edith sweetly said, her dark eyes catching his intently. Then, as though she were unaware of the effect her lips had had on Anthony's cheek, as though she hadn't noticed his fair skin blotching with patches of scarlet, and as though she were oblivious to Anthony's hand unconsciously touching the place where her mouth had just been, Edith pedalled away from Locksley.

The baronet watched her pull away from the gravel drive, his blue eyes never leaving her form once.

"My god," he mumbled under his breath. "I'm in trouble."


	4. Philosophy of the Heart

A/N: Thank you all for the great feedback for the last chapter! You are so wonderful :) As for this chapter, written for our the First Annual Tumblr Andith Fest (yay!), our Edith and Anthony grow fonder of each other, realizing that something is brewing. But it can't be that easy, can it? It is _Andith_ after all, and they always manage to make things, love especially, harder than it should be. I hope you enjoy it! I'd love to hear your thoughts if you can spare the time :D

Also, just yesterday, I visited our beloved Highclere Castle! It was magnificent and I even stole a picture of Lady Edith's bedroom, among about 200 others of the rest of the estate! If you want to see some pictures of the castle and grounds, check out my Instagram anglophileabroad :)

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The numbers and figures of the ledger, urgently propped open on the desk, danced around, twisting and fading, not standing still long enough for Sir Anthony Strallan's blue eyes to focus upon them.

He groaned.

Time had passed like this for the better part of the morning, since waking up, as it so happened. The baronet had tried to distract himself with a litany of mundane tasks, nothing that would quite wear him out, nor required much focus at all, but something that would capture his busy mind and hold it for a brief time, even a moment or two.

He had tried ledger work, reasoning that there was always work to be done on the estate. However, that had proved to be too much, requiring a level of concentration he couldn't supply. Then, Anthony sought solace in his abundant book collection, pulling out three or four newer titles, but he couldn't quite invest himself in a story at the moment when endless possibilities of events to come taunted his mind. As a last resort, the poor man opted for a walk around the grounds, but memories of a walk just two days prior haunted him and he retreated to Locksley with immediacy.

Now, Anthony had returned to the sanctuary of his library and attempted some ledger work once again. Still, no such luck. Acceptance of his overwhelming distraction would only lead to acceptance of _what_ it was (or who, rather), that was distracting him so.

But, despite a nagging tug at his heartstrings, Anthony couldn't bring himself to admit it. The feeling, though, wouldn't be so easily ignored, wouldn't grow weary without a fight.

And a fight, it gave. Anthony's eyes drifted from the ledger, an easy task, as they weren't particularly interested in it to begin with, and lazily settled on the garden through the bay window of his library. He saw her there, her strawberry curls dancing in the breeze, her sundress flowing with the movement of the wind. Her dark eyes caught sight of his, her lips curling into a smile; evidently, the mere sight of him caused her happiness. Anthony was entranced, intoxicated as he stared at her; he couldn't look away.

"Sir? Mrs. Lucas just informed me that we've run out of raspberries and consequently-" Wilson, the butler, bumbled as he entered the library with a light knock. But upon seeing his employer gazing longingly into the empty garden, his eyes focused with intent, that characteristic half-smile residing on his lips, the butler's words halted with the same abruptness that the man, himself, did.

Anthony remained transfixed, gazing garden-bound as though charmed by a pungi's unceasing melody. It was only when Wilson cleared his throat with a violent insistence that the baronet's eyes darted away from the garden. Anthony was startled, no doubt, by the interruption, and he seemed out of place for a moment or two as he tried to recall what Wilson had been mumbling about as he walked into the library.

Seeking to minimize his employer's discomfort, Wilson spoke once more. "Sir, Mrs. Lucas wanted me to inform you that we're out of raspberries and can no longer serve the tarts you had requested for tea with Lady Edith this afternoon. I do apologize for the oversight, sir."

Anthony absorbed the butler's words at last, but with a quick glance towards the garden for good measure, he realized that he had been caught in a rather embarrassing daytime reverie. A chuckle escaped him; after all, he hadn't been caught doing so since he was a young boy, fantasizing about one of the neighbor girls or some such.

"Not a problem, Wilson," the baronet assured the butler. "Please tell Mrs. Lucas that I'd be delighted to consume anything she should make, sans raspberries or otherwise."

A smile teased at Wilson's lips, partly at his employer's gentility and fairness with himself and Mrs. Lucas, and partly at the way, despite the garden being completely empty, the baronet peeked at it many times, the redness in his cheeks darkening with each glance. He could only guess what the baronet saw out there, though he had a fair idea in mind.

"Thank you, sir," Wilson replied with a curt bow before departing.

Solitude was recaptured in the library, the morning light pouring in and the cool breeze circling around through the open windows. The ledgers, despite the calm that had settled upon the baronet's sanctuary, taunted the man, teased him for his inability to focus on them, and Anthony sat down with a huff, trying with all his might to keep his gaze on the lines and figures.

As his eyes poured over the data, scanning and moving about, the baronet had to remind himself that the impending tea with his best friend's daughter was to remain cordial…no, hospitable…no, neighborly and nothing more. His heart, despite its best intentions and its ardent quest to prove otherwise, was just wrong this time around. Anthony was certain of it. For how on earth could he, without guilt or remorse, pursue this young woman so many years his junior, the middle daughter of his oldest friend?

He couldn't even begin to imagine how Robert would respond to such a pursuit, how he would bellow and roar and forbid, all with just reason, of course. It was nearly reprehensible, Anthony thought, that he even had such a regard for the young woman, not with him being how he was and Edith being how wonderfully she was.

Even if Edith weren't Robert's daughter, which would eliminate a whole host of problems and repercussions, Anthony felt that he still should keep his distance from someone just beginning her life, so firmly planted in its prime.

He was old, a creature of habit and routine, settled and comfortable. He couldn't provide the adventure Edith craved, nor could he provide her with any other, more conventional things a husband should, come to think of it. Not that there had been any chance to prove otherwise; he just assumed, naturally.

No, despite how swimmingly they got along, how instant their connection was, Anthony concluded as he stared out at the empty garden, they were wholly mismatched. It would never work out.

Still, no harm in gaining a new friend, a companion to converse with and encourage as she progressed in the long journey called life. He could be a mentor of sorts, a confidant if Edith needed one, offering wisdom gained only after years of experience. Part of the baronet found this to be rather agreeable, and he nodded, pleased with his new plan as he stood to change for tea.

But if such a scheme were perfect in its conception, so completely cogent and well-reasoned, why did Anthony Strallan retire to his dressing room with a frown looming on his lips?

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Not more than an hour later, a bright and cheery strawberry blonde was ushered into Locksley's inviting library by Wilson, who happened to be wearing a smirk on his face as he caught sight of the baronet's immediate transformation upon the young woman's arrival.

"Lady Edith!" Anthony chirped, standing from his desk and moving to show her the seating area. "I'm so glad you came."

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world, Sir Anthony," Edith replied as she sat down across from Anthony, crossing her ankles and trying to hide her reddened cheeks. "It's not everyday that I get the opportunity to break free from Downton and enjoy tea and philosophy with a new friend, now is it?"

A blush of his own grew on Anthony's face, wholly involuntary and completely unwanted. But, the man just couldn't help himself around this young woman; merely seeing her caused his heart to react in once well-known but now forgotten ways. The old ticker was learning such things anew, despite his internal protests.

"You're too kind, Lady Edith," came Anthony's humble mumble. "Now, before we dive any further into my collection, how about some tea?"

The young Crawley nodded eagerly and in a long stride, Anthony crossed the room and pulled the curtained bell adjacent to the fireplace. Not a moment passed before Wilson came into the library, carrying a tray full of piping hot tea and Mrs. Lucas's delectable goodies. The unlikely pair restrained themselves from devouring them outright, but it was a difficult task, what with Mrs. Lucas being the finest baker around.

"So, Edith, what have you been up to since our last meeting?" Anthony asked as he finished one apple tartlet but before reaching for a second.

Edith set her saucer down and had to bite her lip to refrain from giggling at the crumbs that had collected in Anthony's thin, blond moustache. He was completely unaware of their presence, his blue eyes pressing her and his mouth forming a genial smile, and Edith had to distract her gaze with some a distant bookshelf in order to suppress her laughter.

"Well," she started, her dark eyes completely transfixed on a globe in the corner of the library, far away from the goofy grin of her companion. "I went into Ripon yesterday with Mama for some dress fittings: eight new frocks in total, with some alterations to some of my older dresses. I seem to have hit quite the growth spurt in the last year, apparently."

Anthony nearly choked on his tea, his eyes betraying him by scanning Edith's delicious form. _My, the past year must have been very good to you_, he caught himself thinking. _Oh, bollocks! Stop thinking such things, you old codger!_

Edith, however, was completely oblivious to the manner in which Anthony had both inspected her and coughed up his tea. She continued, "Papa would usually be rather displeased with Mama purchasing so many new frocks for one of us, but it appears that he and Mama are desperate for me to find a suitor during the Season. They'll stop at no lengths to aid in the process."

Recovering his composure, Anthony interjected. "Perhaps they just want what they think is best for you…"

"Perhaps," she muttered. She was in no mood to argue with someone over something as trivial as new frocks, especially with Anthony. Standing and walking determinedly to the corner of the library that housed Anthony's school texts, Edith announced, "Enough talk about frocks and fittings and the Season. Which book should I start with first if I am to continue my education?"

Dumbfounded, Anthony had just reeled around as Edith crossed his library, standing impatiently by the dusty shelf with a hand on her hip. He rather liked that she took charge of things, that she felt so comfortable in his home. Clumsily, he stood to join her, spilling tea and knocking over biscuits and pastries as he endeavored to meet her by his philosophy texts.

Anthony arrived near her, wiping his wet and sticky hands on his burgundy vest, and in an instant, seemed more at ease near his books. Edith watched him as his blue eyes danced along the shelf, searching for a book for her to read. A long, lean finger joined in the dance, running along the spines of the tomes in ways that, blushingly, made Edith's heart race to some degree. Finally, his eyes widened and a smile grew on his face.

"A-ha!" he cheered. "Here we are! One of the greats: Soren Kierkegaard. This one here is a collection of a few of his more prominent writings. The Dane has a very narrative style of writing, very unlike so many other philosophers, who write with the intention of boring their readers to a much anticipated and longed-for death! Kierkegaard is a good one to transition into the study of philosophy; he's able to convey deep thoughts in the most delightful way."

"I think I like him already," Edith told him warmly. The baronet smiled in return, a nervous grin, for he wasn't quite sure if there were a veiled meaning behind that or not. He instantly chastised himself for even thinking such thoughts.

Anthony passed it to Edith, their fingers brushing as the book transferred from hand to hand. Giddier than they should have been at such a contact, both Edith and Anthony cleared their throats and, with haste, scurried back to the seating area, firmly planted away from the other, with a coffee table and a few ottomans in between for good measure.

Nerves subsided and a calm settled upon the library and its occupants. The baronet and the earl's daughter read their respective books in amiable silence, glances stolen, feelings reprimanded. Time melted by and neither Anthony nor Edith had the misguided curiosity to question why.

After a time, however, Anthony tore his eyes away from _The Illiad_ to inspect his new friend. She was reclined on his settee in the most bizarre manner, apparently trying to relax without putting her feet on the seat. Edith's dark eyes met Anthony's, as though she could sense his gaze, as though his eyes had touched her skin.

"Sorry," Edith apologized as she squirmed. "Do you mind if I take them off?" She nodded towards her shoes.

"Oh, um, yes, of course. Feel free," Anthony answered. His surprise was soon replaced with fascination as he watched the young woman slipping out of her shoes and curling her legs onto the settee, tucking her now naked feet into the cushions.

He was still staring, gawking really, when Edith's voice pierced the silence. "Anthony?"

The baronet glanced up at her with a jolt. "Hmm? Yes, sorry. What?"

"I have a question about something Kierkegaard wrote."

"Ask away, my dear."

"Well, here on page 433, Kierkegaard talks about love, most curiously, too. I've never heard such notions before. Anyway, he says, 'Love is the expression of the one who loves, not the one who is loved. Love discovers truth about individuals that others cannot see.' Do you think that's true? Can love penetrate the walls we put up? Or, in other words, can someone else's feelings about us see through our guards, our reservations?"

Anthony, despite his keen philosophical mind, hadn't been prepared for such a question. It took him a moment to think on it, to prepare his response without revealing any of his own personal biases.

"Well, Edith, I am quite not sure. Maybe what Kierkegaard means to say is that when we're in love, we see sides of people that others don't, that others often overlook. We see the good in the other, seeing sides of her that others can't or won't appreciate…"

A shy grin played at Edith's pink lips. "But do we see the loved one as he truly is or as we want to see him, as our heart fluffs him up?"

Anthony leaned forward on the sofa, his mind and his heart now actively engaged in the conversation. "Ah, you see, that is the eternal question regarding love: do we love the person or the idea of the person? Which is it?"

"I'm not certain. I would hope, if the love is genuine enough, that I would see him as he truly is, not as I want to see him. And perhaps, I would see a side to him to which only I am privy, like I would know secrets about him or sides to him that no other had seen before."

Anthony, for all his love of riveting conversations, should have continued, pressed Edith for more thoughts on the matter, used the Socratic method on her as it had been used on him at Cambridge to extract more meaning from Kierkegaard's words. But, unlike his days at Cambridge, he had never felt so immediately shy by the topic of discussion or its speaker. Perhaps Kierkegaard wasn't such a great choice; next time they met, he must pick something less close to heart, so to speak. Mill or Kant or Marx: anyone far less provocative to his old heart than the Dane.

"Would you care for more tea?" Anthony asked by way of deflection, his way of avoiding any further discussion into such realms.

"Oh, um, sure," Edith mumbled, slightly dejected by Anthony's dismissal. If he didn't want to speak of such things, he shouldn't have invited her over and picked out Kierkegaard's works himself! Still, in spite of her momentary annoyance with the baronet, a lopsided grin and a nervous chuckle emitted from the man as he passed her a fresh cup of tea melted Edith's stiff demeanor in an instant.

He really did have quite the effect on her…

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Over the next week and a half, with just a few days remaining before Edith was to leave with the rest of the Crawleys for the London Season, such topics of love and adoration were not breeched again. Anthony made sure of it, picking works by thinkers that came nowhere near such discussions.

Edith stopped by Locksley most days to read with Anthony, finding any gap in her schedule between dress fittings and remedial etiquette lessons to spend even a few hours with the baronet. Anthony had grown rather fond of her company, at her thoughtful and witty conversations, at the way she tucked her feet into his settee, at the way his old library had never seemed brighter than when she was in it. Although, the man kept other feelings, deeper, more guarded ones, on a very, very tight leash.

He was rather amazed at how one Crawley's companionship had merged so seamlessly into the other's, though he preferred each for different reasons. It dawned on Anthony one afternoon as he finished up some ledger work after Edith had left, that he had hardly spent any time with his old pal, Robert, since Edith's return from Cheltenham.

Daresay, it was time for a social call.

After some calls were exchanged and schedules shuffled, Robert and Anthony were set to spend a morning riding together along Downton's extensive grounds. Horses saddled and mounted, the two men took off, the country air whipping around them and the Yorkshire scenery passing by in a green blur.

A few hours later, with sweat cascading down their noses and forming underneath their shirts, Robert suggested to Anthony that they refill their canteens in the river and rest for a time. The baronet was agreeable to this, as it had been some time since he had ridden so vigorously and his old body had overdone it to a degree.

Perched on a rock at the riverbank, Anthony leaned down and splashed the cool water on his sweaty face and refilled his canteen. Robert did the same a few feet away, lounging on a patch of grass once he settled.

"It's good to see you, old pal. Ever since Edith came home, I feel like I've hardly seen you," the earl told his friend as he fished out some biscuits wrapped in cloth from his satchel, a welcomed gesture from Mrs. Patmore, the famed cook, no doubt. He offered some to Anthony.

"Likewise, Robert. I've been so busy lately that the weeks have just slipped by," he replied, gratefully accepting the bundle of biscuits and munching on them. The sun beat down on his fair skin and if a sweat hadn't broken because of that, it was sure to as Anthony pondered the ways in which Robert would react to his spending excessive time with the man's middle daughter. Best not to reveal too much unless Robert broached the subject, Anthony nodded as he splashed some more water on the back of his neck.

"And I hardly feel like I've seen Edith at all, either!" Robert admitted. "She's always going on walks or some sort when Cora hasn't wrangled her for some Season-related duty. God only knows how much I've spent on new frocks for the Season. It's criminal what those dressmakers charge, you know."

Anthony chuckled meekly, feigning intense interest in the way the river bent along the rocks he sat upon. He wasn't keen on treading so close to these Edith-related topics, not with Robert, at least.

Robert pressed on, oblivious to the fact that he was just barely above talking to himself. "And I hardly know where she runs off to. It's absurd; if this were our day and age, old chap, young, unmarried women couldn't sneak off for hours at a time with no explanation as to their whereabouts and no guardian to speak of!"

Although he had wanted to remain silent, to let this brief conversation run its course without his input, Anthony found his voice coming to Edith's defense without any consultation from his mind whatsoever.

"Perhaps she just wants to enjoy this last bit of freedom before the Season. After all, she'll be going to so many balls and galas, making calls on women and suitors, that she won't have any time to herself. And if it goes well and she _does_ find a suitor, she'll be married off sooner than you think. Freedom can be a fleeting thing for some people."

Robert turned to Anthony, his eyebrows arched high on his forehead. "Well, a yearning for freedom or otherwise, it's irresponsible. She's putting herself at unknown risk by wandering off on her own. I don't know where she got this strange behavior; perhaps sending her to Cheltenham wasn't my wisest of decisions."

Anthony had to suppress a laugh as he thought about the 'unknown risks' to which Edith was subjecting herself. Yes, tea and philosophy texts and Mrs. Lucas's pastries were so very dangerous indeed.

"Actually, Anthony, old pal, I was hoping to ask a favor of you," Robert said, his tone shifting from paternal to businesslike in an instant. It was that same tone the earl often used to get his way with his tenants, one that had helped to keep the Grantham estate very prosperous and powerful. Anthony didn't appreciate that it was being utilized on him in this moment.

The baronet gulped rather audibly and anxiously took a swig of cool water from the canteen. "Anything, Robert."

"Would you mind coming down to London for the Season with us? I'd like you to keep an eye on Edith, make sure she's mingling with the right men, not holed off in some corner like she usually is…"

"Oh, Robert, I don't think-"

"I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't pressing, Anthony," Robert interrupted, his grey eyes penetrating Anthony's with intensity. "Cora and I will be busy with Mary; it's her third Season and if she doesn't find a suitor this time around, it might not happen. This strange affair with Cousin Matthew has gone on long enough and if they can't settle on something, Mary must seek out other options. It's imperative that Cora and I can focus our energy on setting up the right connections for Mary. We'd like to see Edith married off soon, too, this Season if luck would have it, but Mary needs our unceasing attention for the time being."

"Are you sure I…I am the best choice?" Anthony stuttered, not quite believing what his ears were relaying.

"Nonsense, old boy! I know you wouldn't try anything. All you must do is guide Edith, get her to dance with the right young men at balls, redirect her to socialize with suitors if she wanders off. It shouldn't be difficult; just get stern with her if you must and remind her what's at stake."

He couldn't do it. Everything was difficult enough having Edith in his home most days, her lavender perfume lingering for days afterwards, thoughts of her taunting him at night. But to push her into the grubby, devilish hands of young suitors? Anthony didn't think he had it in him.

"I'm sorry, Robert, but my estate needs me here. I can't abandon it for three or four months," Anthony countered. It wasn't a complete lie; the estate was his top priority. But then again, it wasn't the real reason he was so averse to Robert's plan.

The earl stood up and trudged through the river to the rock where Anthony was sitting. Firmly, with the power of his rank behind him, he placed his hand on Anthony's shoulder.

"Good man, I ask you this as a friend. Please, Anthony, I need you. My family needs you," Robert urged. He could practically see Anthony's countenance shifting into one of hesitant acceptance, and a satisfied grin formed on the earl's face.

Anthony, a veteran of many battles in the Second Boer War, knew when a fight was superfluous. He nodded his head, though not without a great degree of reluctance. "Yes, all right, Robert. I'll help where I can. When do you depart for London?"

The earl sighed with relief; he almost always got what he wanted. "The Thursday after next. We're opening up Grantham House for the Season and you're welcome to stay with us."

At the mere thought of sleeping under the same roof as Edith, Anthony's stomach teased him with back flips and somersaults and the like. "Ahh, no, thank you, Robert. I think I'll open up my London house and air it out for a bit, if that's all right."

"Of course, anything you say. Now, how about we make the trek back to Downton for luncheon? I'm famished!"

Anthony mumbled some semblance of agreement and mounted his horse. On the ride through the hills of the Crawley estate, his mind was detached from the lush, rolling hills and the sweet summer air and even from Robert's random shouting at points of interest along the way.

The baronet's thoughts were consumed with Edith. How on earth would he be able to carry out Robert's wishes when it so conflicted with everything he knew and felt about the woman? Edith wanted to participate in the Season only marginally, and now, despite how much he longed not to, he would have to push her and introduce her to young suitors. The thought made him weak at the knees.

As Downton loomed in the near distance, and the Season loomed precariously close in the calendar, Anthony wasn't sure if, when the time came, he could heed Robert's request.

He wasn't even sure if he would try…


End file.
